


Declination

by Saphron_Girl



Series: Alignment [2]
Category: Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: (because he knows it gets a rise out of him), (it's basically Primo taunting Leonardo with his teenaged crush), (probably about 15 years? we don't know for certain), Age Difference, Age Play (Kind of), Barebacking, Dirty Talk, M/M, Porn with a little bit of Plot, slight D/s undertones, sub space (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphron_Girl/pseuds/Saphron_Girl
Summary: “Do you remember the summer of 1958?” Primo asked, lids heavy, lazily palming himself.Leonardo blinked, dazed, struggling to register his question.“What?”“It was unbearably hot.  I remember trying to slick my hair back, but the pomade kept dripping down my neck.  I had a bright red jacket, just like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause.  My father hated it.”As he slowly closed the distance between them, Primo revealed the full length of his cock and cupped it lightly.“You wore short-sleeved white shirts like Brando that summer,” Primo continued, “and used to strut around with that infuriating grin of yours, those wild fucking curls.  Married.  Completely off-limits.  You drove me insane.”
Relationships: Primo Nizzuto/Leonardo
Series: Alignment [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931905
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	Declination

Primo had two apartments: one in Rome and another in Reggio di Calabria, not far the port of Gioia Tauro. He split his time between them, grating against the additional logistics of his personal security, a grudgingly accepted consequence of power. He’d also decided to keep his uncle’s house after murdering him. 

It'd been worn and old and harbored the tattered, ugly remnants of wallpaper he’d hated as a child, but somehow the thought of it belonging to a stranger irritated him more. He’d stripped the walls and scrubbed them clean before throwing on a layer of whitewash; respectable and simple and serving the purpose of its functionality without being a total fucking eyesore. Salvatore’s presence still somehow lingered, but Primo couldn’t be bothered to invest any more of his time. 

Thus, the sad little slice of his past (fleeting memories of his aunt cooking and fussing over him, his father twisting his arm and yanking him from the stove, bellowing) now served as a location to discuss business with his infuriating yet intoxicating accountant-cum-consigliere. 

It was a past dusk. Two cars sat outside, one at the end of the drive, the other positioned at the mouth of the road, manned by armed enforcers. Leonardo was high-ranking in his own right, and would be permitted entry without a second glance, by now a steady fixture of Primo’s orbit. Energy prickled under his skin as he glanced at the clock, and took a slow pull from his cigarette, waiting. 

Leonardo let himself in without knocking or offering any words in greeting. Fixing Primo with an unreadable gaze, he lowered himself into an empty kitchen chair and leaned forward.

“One of the men sitting outside isn’t much older than Francesco.”

“Angelo was seventeen,” Primo responded, knowing the name would provoke him.

“He was desperate for money and Salvatore took advantage of that.”

As Leonardo spoke, his eyes flashed with anger and ill-concealed fear; Primo regarded him slowly, taking him in. His defensive posture, his idle hands straining to do busy work.

“Do you think I’m taking advantage of Francesco?” 

There was a slight tick in Leonardo’s jaw; he rolled the words around his mouth before responding.

“He’s a wise investment. He has a mind for practical things, for business. When he returns he’ll know more than just English.”

“That’s not an answer, baby lion.”

Leonardo’s head shot up, face twisted in an amusing combination of fury and arousal. Primo lounged against his chair and smirked, slow as molasses. He continued speaking.

“Do you think I’m fucking you to gain access to your son’s mind? Leading you around by your cock until he’s old enough take over the family business?”

The comment had its intended effect. Ashamed, Leonardo ran both hands through his thick hair, an anxious gesture Primo knew well. 

“Fuck you,” Leonardo hissed, “if you ever _look_ at him-”

“Shut up, you boring little man. I’m not that fucking predictable.”

“What am I supposed to think? The number of years between you and Francesco is almost identical to what’s between us.”

Shifting his weight, Primo sighed dramatically.

“Do you know why I like you?” 

The abrupt subject change had Leonardo fumbling for a response. 

“Do you like _anyone_?”

Primo dismissively waved a hand.

“I like individual qualities. Ones that can benefit me. No relationship is built on altruism; we surround ourselves with people who give us something. In one way or another.”

“And what do I give you?” Leonardo pressed. 

“Outside of the obvious? You treat your wife with respect.”

The look on Leonardo’s face was owlish. He blinked.

“What?”

“Salvatore was a bastard who beat his wife, just like my father. Both of them were stuck in an irrelevant past, held back by the limits of their imagination. They had no vision, no awareness of the new world outside Calabria. You may live in a small town but you have a modern mind, and minds like that aren’t as common as I would like.”

Leonardo released a weary, commiserative sigh.

“Fair enough,” he muttered.

“Also, if I got rid of you, it would only make Francesco more vulnerable. More pliable.”

“But you’d have complete control of him.”

“I thought I just fucking told you that I don’t want that. I’ve got no need for a supplicant as my right hand. When you tell me I’m being an idiot, you’re usually right. I love that challenge, that discomfort. I can’t afford to stagnate on this throne. I refuse to make the same mistake Salvatore did.”

A playful smile teased the corner of Leonardo’s mouth. 

“You need to an old man to boss you around.”

“It’s a great way to relieve stress,” Primo countered, teeth flashing white, “but before we fuck, I actually did have something to tell you.”

It took a second for Leonardo to reorient himself. He swallowed thickly and schooled his face into something vaguely professional. Almost endearing.

“Yes?”

“I have the Prime Minister by the balls.”

Chair creaking, Leonardo leaned back to study him. 

“You’re serious.”

Leonardo was aware of all the ugly details: Colombo had promised to invest more than a billion lire into the port to quell the Reggio revolt in 1971, but there’d been nothing more than a slow drip through bullshit red tape in the years since. Primo had cash but he needed permits and government allies. Andreotti had gotten elected on a pro-capitalist and anti-corruption platform, so he’d been digging his heels in, worried the money hadn’t been sufficiently washed of its 'Ndrangheta stink. 

It had pissed Primo off, so he'd done something about it.

“You still don’t fully grasp the value of whores, do you?” 

Frowning, Leonardo took the bait.

“I know why you surround yourself with them so brazenly. You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.” 

“And they’re a valuable source of information,” Primo sighed, “you know this. They watch, they listen. Men say stupid things when they underestimate people around them.”

Leonardo was tangentially aware of Primo’s unorthodox alliance with Ada, and had no doubt guessed the nature of her strategic value to him.

“Did one of the girls overhear something?” 

A slow, vicious smile spread across Primo’s face. He blew out a stream of smoke before speaking, drawing it out for the sake of suspense. 

“You know I have a place in Rome. I’ve also befriended a few of its whores.”

A cloud passed over Leonardo’s face before he quickly concealed it.

“The city must have quite a variety to choose from with all the tastes that need catering to.”

“If you’re asking me if I’ve fucked male whores in Rome, that’s none of your business and it’s irrelevant to this discussion. I will, however, tell you that one of those high-class whores fucked Andreotti.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re planning to use the word of a prostitute as leverage against the fucking Prime Minister?” Leonardo asked, deadpan.

“Of course not. I plan to use incriminating polaroids of his coke-fueled sex marathon.”

“You’re mad.”

“Perhaps, but extortion works.” 

Primo shrugged and twisted the butt of his cigarette into the filthy ashtray between them.

“If you want to fuck on the bed, I haven’t replaced the bloody mattress yet, but I did flip it over,” Primo offered without preamble.

“Jesus.”

“Or, you could stay sitting while I bounce on your lap,” he continued, nonchalant. 

The air around them changed instantly. Primo held himself still. Pushing his chair back, Leonardo held his gaze, and tilted his pelvis forward. He was already half-hard, pressing against his inseam. Licking his lips, Primo finally stood and rounded the table. He was wearing an ensemble that Salvatore would have despised, bold lines and expensive fabric, purchased from a world-class designer exclusive to Rome. Primo unbuttoned his silk shirt and tossed it aside.

Maintaining eye contact, he stepped forward and began to open his fly, pausing to give Leo an eyeful. He was naked underneath, hair neatly trimmed, the root of his cock framed by the curve of his hand. Leo shifted and sucked in a shaky breath. 

“Do you remember the summer of 1958?” Primo asked, lids heavy, lazily palming himself. 

Leonardo blinked, dazed, struggling to register his question.

“What?”

“It was unbearably hot. I remember trying to slick my hair back, but the pomade kept dripping down my neck. I had a bright red jacket, just like James Dean in _Rebel Without a Cause._ My father hated it.”

As he slowly closed the distance between them, Primo revealed the full length of his cock and cupped it lightly. 

“You wore short-sleeved white shirts like Brando that summer,” Primo continued, “and used to strut around with that infuriating grin of yours, those wild fucking curls. Married. Completely off-limits. You drove me insane.”

Breathless, Leonardo pressed a hand against his trapped erection. 

“Do you know how many times I jerked off thinking of you? I rubbed myself raw every night.”

“Stop,” Leonardo ground out.

“Stop pretending like you don’t love it. You would’ve basked in the attention if you’d known, if I’d ever said a word.” 

“Fuck you.”

“You walked out of Esposito’s once, alone, and looked at me as you lit a cigarette. If I hadn’t been hard as nails at the time, I would’ve gone over and talked to you, I think.”

Leonardo gasped, blindsided by the shock of his arousal. 

“Hello Mr Amoroso. Can I bum a cigarette, please, sir?” Primo teased, voice pitched just a little higher, scratchier. 

Leonardo’s eyes flashed with heat, jaw clenching. 

“Say that again,” he rasped.

A sly grin spread across Primo’s face.

“Mr Amoroso?” 

“Not that.”

“Sir?” 

The response was immediate; a quick inhale, a sluggish swallow. Primo toyed with him, drawing it out, floating on the heady rush of it. Then Leonardo spoke:

“Did you open yourself up before I got here, sweetheart?”

Primo straightened as if touched by a live wire, the dynamic between them flipping like a switch. His only response was a slow nod. 

“Good,” Leonardo rumbled, “take those off.”

His bespoke leather loafers weren’t cheap, but Primo dropped them on the floor with a dull thud. Slowly easing out of his trousers, he stood just out of Leonardo’s reach, bare skin alight with arousal. 

“Jesus, look at you. Those thighs, like a stallion’s.”

The appraising heat of Leonardo’s stare spurred Primo forward, until he was standing right in the space between his spread legs, hands gripping his shoulders. 

“Show me what you would have done back then... to thank me for a cigarette,” Leonardo continued, voice like velvet, fingertips burning a trail up his haunches. 

It took every ounce of control Primo possessed not to whimper. Instead, he lowered himself onto Leonardo’s lap, long legs on either side of his waist. He was unbearably warm and smelled of Proraso and aftershave, thrilling Primo’s hind brain in a way he couldn’t articulate. Reaching between them, he unbuttoned Leonardo’s pants, drawing the fat length of him out, squeezing at it. 

“I would have have lost my mind for a taste of this,” he whispered against Leonardo’s ear. 

Sometimes he’d forget how strong Leonardo was beneath his softness; two large hands gripped him, lifting his hips so he was positioned just right, and held him there.

“Please,” the plea fell from Primo’s mouth, surprising them both. 

Leonardo captured his lips in a kiss that felt more like fucking, and pushed him down onto his cock. Sucking in a gasp of shock, Primo grunted, then ground himself flush against coarse fabric. Leonardo held him steady and spread him wider to take a series of sharp, upward thrusts. Thighs straining, Primo felt wild and ravenous; no matter how hard Leonardo slammed into him, it wasn’t enough. His moan came out ragged. Gutteral. 

“I know you’re not fucking whores in Rome because they can’t give you what you need, sweet boy,” Leonardo murmured into Primo’s neck before grabbing a handful of long hair and yanking his head back, just on the right side of painful. 

Adam’s apple bobbing, Primo swallowed desperately as Leonardo dragged his nose over the pulse of his jugular, and bit down on the tender flesh, just enough to sting. 

“Harder, harder,” Primo gasped, “I want to feel your cock in my throat.”

Half-mad, Leonardo lifted him up and brought them both down to the floor, then hoisted Primo’s legs up onto his shoulders. A wail was punched from his lungs as Leonardo slammed back in. 

“Yes, god,” Primo whined, “you’re so deep. Come inside me. I need to feel you dripping out of me... please, sir.”

Skin burning against the hardwood, Primo flattened his back and tilted to meet Leonardo’s hips. He was desperate, mindless, as Leonardo reached between them and twisted a calloused palm right at the exposed crown of his cock. Gasping, Primo surrendered, entire body arching with the intensity of his orgasm. 

Distantly, he felt Leonardo’s mouth against his collarbone as his pelvis stuttered. Primo clenched, pulling every drop from him, feeling the heat of it slip between his thighs. They’d been regularly fucking for months and each time he was blindsided by the intensity of it. Leonardo usually stayed until he stopped floating, but they rarely exchanged words. 

“What did you mean when you said Francesco would be ‘more’ pliable?”

The question surprised him. Primo blinked, trying to clear his mind, and studied Leonardo’s ruddy face. He’d lost a bit of weight - not too much - and Primo liked to think it was because of all the fucking. Turning the question over in his sex-addled brain, Primo finally caught the reference to their earlier conversation. He smiled, slow and teasing. 

“I know it wasn’t his idea to take Getty’s ear, Leo. He was shaking like a leaf. Violence is easy to buy; that’s what I pay the men out there for. I need your son’s mind. I want him to be his own man.”

“So he can tell rich boys to fuck off and do their own dirty work next time?” Leonardo huffed. 

“Exactly,” Primo responded, almost melancholy, “and a day might come when power denies him those simple choices.”

The mood had shifted. Neither of them said another word, but Leonardo stayed a little longer than usual that night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I gave Leonardo a last name (Amoroso) because I got sick of him not having one, lol. 
> 
> Also, a good portion of the sex scene's dialogue was inspired by [this](https://primogenvy.tumblr.com/post/630329167032074240/pray-for-primo-nizzuto-aint-nothing-wrong-with) tumblr post featuring images of what young Leonardo would have looked like.


End file.
